


Dying is an art

by zinjadu



Series: Never Put Together Entirely [10]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Acceptance, Action, Death, Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Here Lies the Abyss, Gen, Purple Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 10:16:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16344893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinjadu/pseuds/zinjadu
Summary: In the Fade, Marian Hawke made her own damn choice.





	Dying is an art

The hulking form of the Nightmare demon reared into what passed for the sky in this place, it’s sharp, stabbing legs—always too many fucking legs—thudded into the ground, cutting away rock and kicking up water as it went.  Varric, the Vint and the older Warden had already run off back through the rift, but Marian was stuck on the other side. Stuck with the Inquisitor and Alistair, and no other way out. No going back, they had to go through.

 

Her hands tightened on the hilt of her sword, so hard her knuckles hurt.

 

“A Warden should fix this,” Alistair said beside her, bracing himself to be a hero.  Marian’s eyes went out of focus, and she thought she could see something just out the corner of her eye.  The flash of armor, a shock of black hair just like her own. Turning her head, but there was only more Fade.

 

Shaking her head to try to clear vision away, Marian tilted her head at the Warden.  Alistair hefted his heavy shield in front of him and shifted his weight to charge. On the edge of her hearing a war cry ripped from a throat that wasn’t there, and a woman’s wail assaulted her ears, a woman crying for her son, crying a name Marian knew.

 

She rammed the pommel of her sword into his ribs, the bones cracking and snapping at the force of the blow.  He grunted in pain and curled up around the impact, his mouth hanging open in shock. Laughter bubbled up out of Marian’s chest and broke from her mouth.  The laughter shook her chest, and suddenly something inside her felt  _ free _ .  Like a chain had been broken.

 

The Nightmare’s freakish form loomed over them, blocking out the weird green light of the sky, and her grin was shaper than blades.

 

“Say good-bye to Varric for me!” she yelled, and then shifted her grip on her sword.  Trevelyan grabbed Alistair’s arm and pulled him along behind her. With a harsh, wild cry, Marian charged the demon.  

 

Her sword cut into its legs, sending gouts of ichor over her armor, over the rocks, into the pools of water, and the Nightmare screamed.  It screamed high and piercing, enough to shatter the world. But Marian grit her teeth and pressed on, slicing into the demon’s gorged abdomen.  It had fed on nightmares and horror for centuries, but she’d  _ lived _ a nightmare since fleeing the darkspawn.  This piece of shit had nothing on her.

 

“Always Maker-damned spiders,” she bit out as she hacked artlessly at its body.  She didn’t spare a glance to see if Alistair and Trevelyan made it out. She gave them the chance, because sometimes that’s all it took.  A chance.

 

The demon screeched, and it bore down on her, swatting at her with one heavy leg.  The leg connected, and she flew across the Nightmare’s demanse like a rag doll thrown by a child.  Her head connected sharply with the rocks that jutted up from the brackish water, a bright burst of pain stabbing through her head, and she nearly threw up.  Sword knocked from her hands, she scrambled in the water to find the hilt, grabbing it just before the demon was on her again. It bit and tore at her, peeling her out of her armor with the squeal of metal, and she stabbed at it through its chitinous body, blood and black ichor making the hilt of her sword slick, but she held on.  Oh she fucking held on.

 

She’d held on for so long, but she wouldn’t have to for much longer.  Her own chances had run out, the bottom of the well dry.

 

With a scream, Marian sank her sword into one of its too fucking many eyes, and it wailed in agony, dropping her to the ground.  Her breath wooshed out of her as she hit the water and rocks again, and her knee shattered and a guttural groan escaped her lips.  The demon flailed, out of its mind if it had one to begin with, and for the first time since fleeing Lothering, fear shivered up Marian’s spine.

 

Barely able to stand, her right leg unable to bear weight, she slashed desperately at the demon, but that didn’t hold it at bay anymore.  With a vicious squeal, the Nightmare lunged forward. One spiked leg swiped at her, and she twisted her body, turing what should have been an impaling strike into a cut along her stomach.  Hissing, she hunched over the wound as blood oozed from it. Her sword was still in her hands, though, and she reared up and roared as she sheared through the leg that would be her death. 

 

The movement opened the wound across her belly even wider, and she staggered once, twice, before falling to her knees.  The demon trashed in its own agony, the stump of one leg leaking ichor into the water around them both. She watched it flail and screech, its taunts and barbs silenced by their fight.  Thank the fucking Maker for that at least. It hadn’t said anything she didn’t already know. How long had she kept trying? Kept thinking it could get better, that she could make it better?  She’d never made anything better, only worse.

 

Except for this.  For once, she could do something  _ right _ .

 

Then the demon screamed at her, and with a vicious grin cutting across her face, Marian raised her sword one last time.


End file.
